


The Last Hanei

by msbiscuits



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Healing, F/M, Mercenaries, Nobility, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Worldbuilding, Wutai (Compilation of FFVII), my first cloti fic, please bear with me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:40:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25846726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msbiscuits/pseuds/msbiscuits
Summary: Ten years after losing her father, Tifa’s life gets thrown into turmoil yet again when her estranged grandfather, a powerful lord of a dying clan in Wutai, implores her to take over his position as his heir. Cloud, meanwhile, is on the run from Shinra with Zack and Aerith in tow, barely scraping by as a mercenary when the circumstances of a job gone wrong drive them out of Midgar.Their paths should never converge again.And yet...
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife, Zack Fair/Aerith Gainsborough
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37





	The Last Hanei

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea floating around for a while. Hopefully it's not complete garbage!

“Looks like I win again,” Tifa said with a quick flourish of her hand, the last resolute click of a stone piece to wood finalizing her victory. She allowed herself a satisfied smile as she leaned back to survey her work, to admire the beautiful simplicity of the patterns she and her partner laid across the table. Considering Zangan’s track record of attracting the most affluent and elderly — and an overwhelmingly dubious evening crowd — it never hurt to double check. Countless times she was accused of a cheat when impairments in their eyesight or memory failed them. Sometimes it happened to be both. Luckily enough, Mr. Sato, one of the few Wutai regulars currently sitting opposite her, never seemed to hold any contempt toward her since he began dropping by the teahouse three months ago. In fact, she’d daresay he quite enjoyed being so soundly defeated during their biweekly rounds of go.

Lord Sato squinted past the thin, wire-rimmed glasses perched precariously at the tip of his nose, to the go board situated between them. The wrinkles lined across his skin deepened with the furrow of his brow, face thoughtfully pinched while he slowly tallied up the score through hazy eyes and a frail, trembling hand.

Tifa neatly refilled their cups, ensuring no spillage made its way onto the polished hardwood. If there was one thing Zangan hated more than indolence and dawdling, it was a messy workspace. Forced to replace tea tables out of her own pocket over the first few months of employment, Tifa quickly learned her lesson on that front, and sticky tabletops were no more.

Sato let out a deep, full-bellied chuckle as she began setting out more of her homemade manju. “So you did, my dear! Just when I thought I had you this round.”

Tifa couldn’t hold back a laugh of her own. How many times had she heard that before? “You say that every time!”

“Ahh, do I?” He scratched idly at his chin, good humor dancing in his weary gaze. “Clearly I’ve grown foolish in my old age if I still think I stand a chance against you.”

“You call it foolish, I call it undeterred optimism.”

Sato clicked his tongue in disagreement, helping her gather the stone pieces rather than pushing it further. He knew better by now than to argue over a trivial matter. “You must share your secrets with me, girl, so I can knock a peg or two out of the rest of the decrepit blue bloods that hobble their way in here.” He paused, a sudden idea forcing a mad cackle out of him. “Or better yet, you could teach my grandson Ryujin a lesson next time I drag him here. He’s been an absolute nightmare, bossing everyone around like he’s hot shit since he weaseled his way into the Emperor’s good graces. Someone needs to wipe that smug smile off his face at least once before I kick the bucket.”

Tifa took an introspective bite of manju, allowing herself a moment to savor the sweetness before dusting the crumbs off her fingertips. “Is this the one who insisted I prepared his tea wrong?” She vaguely remembered a young man accompanying Sato several weeks back, dishing out unwarranted criticism on her technique and making a show of how awful it tasted right after. Eyepatch, slicked back hair, a bit of a wild look in his eye, an attitude as desirable as a parasite.

It could be no other.

“Sadly, yes,” he grumbled, reaching for his teacup and taking a long sip. “You handled that with aplomb, might I add. If I were a few decades younger, I would have given him more than a piece of my mind.”

Tifa shrugged it off, grateful and oddly touched that he’d come so easily to her defense even if it meant jeopardizing his relationship with a family member. “It’s nothing I haven’t handled before. You wouldn’t believe the kinds of people we draw in. The night crowd is a whole other beast.”

“If they’re anything like my grandson, I can believe it.” 

They were worse, and far more dangerous than she would ever admit outright. Though, unbeknownst to Sato, she had a feeling his grandson ran in the very same crowd as these criminals.

“Who taught you? Don’t tell me it’s that old stick in the mud, Zangan. I’ve seen the way he plays, and I have to say I’m not impressed.”

Tifa blinked at him, taken off guard by the turn in conversation. She dropped her gaze to her lap where her own teacup rested between her hands. The gentle wisps of steam tickled her cheeks as a wave of melancholy washed over her.

A decade later and the anguish of her father’s death still haunted her as much as her mother’s did — a gaping wound as fresh as the day it tore her heart open. She wondered if a time would come when the pain was nothing more than a numbing ache, when it would fade into something bearable.

“My father. After I gave up music, we took this up together.” In the weeks following her mother’s death, they were aimless, quietly suffering in their unspoken misery. Though she knew he loved her deeply, he wasn’t ever quite good with words or expressing his feelings, and she was too busy ensuring he didn’t drown his sorrows in alcohol to process her own grief. Both desperately needed the distraction, and so with the limited resources Nibelheim offered, they naturally gravitated to go.

But that was neither the time nor place for such a severe conversation. Far less appropriate, too, to have with a customer, no matter how genial he may be.

“It was an odd thing to bond over at the time, but yes, he taught me everything I know. Zangan thinks it’s a waste of time, even if he hasn’t said that explicitly, but it makes the customers happy.” She snorted, thinking of all the seasoned patrons who accused her of swindling them. It wasn’t her fault they underestimated her from the start. “Well… _most_ of the time.”

Sato tutted, having no problem voicing his displeasure. “Not everything in life has to have a gain. Simply enjoying something, no matter how insignificant or foolish you perceive it to be, is always worthy of your time. It’s the understated moments that make life worth living, not those acts of grandeur the media loves so much. Those moments are too far and few between to sustain a person.”

He spoke like a man who lived and conquered old regrets. She held no knowledge of his past, never bothered to dig any deeper than what he already offered, but perhaps it was because of that that he allowed himself to be so open with his thoughts and feelings, lighthearted and at times capricious when it came to serious matters.

She wished she could free herself from her own burdens, to live unencumbered by the shadow of her past life. Sadly the promise of such a future was still out of reach, no matter how satisfactory the current circumstances were.

A knock sounded against the shoji frame before she had a chance to respond, sliding open to reveal Zangan standing just beyond the threshold. A foreboding edge hinted at his expression, further illuminated by the deep orange and yellow hues of dusk shining through the glass pane. She hadn’t seen him this troubled in years; not since he whisked her away from Nibelheim, at the very least.

What on Gaia could cause such a profound reaction?

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear!” Sato exclaimed jovially, completely missing — or perhaps ignoring — the sudden chill that accompanied her mentor. “Good to see you again, old man.”

Zangan brushed off the playful jab and bowed apologetically. “Forgive me, sir, but I’m afraid we’ll have to cut your session short. I need Tifa for an urgent matter. We—”

Sato waved him off, knowing full well it was none of his business. “No need to explain anything to me. I ought to head back to the estate anyway. My daughter-in-law will be searching high and low for me soon enough. If she hasn’t begun already, that is.” He chuckled, shaking his head in tepid amusement. “Treats me like a lost pup, she does. But I do appreciate her concern.” 

With a small parcel of manju and a tin of his favorite blend tucked away in the unending layers of his robes, the two bade him farewell outside the storefront, just under the soft glow of paper lanterns lined above the engawa.

“Should I call for a carriage?”

“Bah! I enjoy walking. It’s better for these old bones anyway.” He patted her shoulder, a bright smile pulling across his lips. “I’ll see you in a few days, my dear.”

Tifa bowed as he descended the steps. “Travel safe, sir.”

Once Sato ambled out of earshot, Zangan wordlessly slipped a sealed envelope into her hands. Tifa flipped it over and back again, brows knitting in confusion. There was no indication of where it came from or that it was even meant for her.

“What’s this?”

“Not sure, if I’m being honest. But I have my suspicions.”

Tifa laughed lightly, attempting to ease the tension thickening the air as she delicately ripped one end of the envelope open. “Cryptic as always. What, do you think the Emperor’s men are finally reaching out to recruit me? They’re not very good at keeping secrets once they have a little liquid courage in them, you know.”

That actually pulled a chuckle out of him. A rarity, for sure. “No, nothing like that. I can’t ever imagine you doing the government’s dirty work. It goes against everything you stand for.”

After Shinra worked her father to death? Poisoning him with mako until it left him bedridden, fettering him to a fate she only heard of in the most destructive of cautionary tales? Zangan wasn’t wrong about that. As far as she knew, Wutai’s politicians weren’t in association with Shinra, but they were just as wretched: corrupt and voracious, leeching off the destitute, draining the planet of its precious few resources. She witnessed family after family ruined under the control of Gaia’s corporate overlords, ripped apart by the very hand that fed them, left high and dry when they no longer proved useful to their impossible standards.

She despised each and every one of them.

“Where’d it come from? Did a customer leave it behind?”

“A flashy messenger showed up. Told me it was for your eyes only.” He feigned nonchalance by leaning heavily against a wooden pillar, arms crossed loosely across his chest. An imperceptible change to anyone none the wiser. But she knew his disposition just as much as her own. Instead the gesture made him look far older than his years, as if the weight of all his decisions suddenly became too much to bear. It was strange to see him as anything other than confident or decisive.

“He’s still out back waiting for a response.”

She arched an inquisitive brow. So a personal messenger, then. Sent for her of all people _._

Which morally bankrupt asshole did she attract this time?

Inhaling a deep breath, Tifa steeled herself for the worst and unfolded the letter neatly encased inside. What she discovered astonished her: an invitation, but not from anyone she could have ever anticipated.

_Granddaughter,_

_I apologize for not writing to you sooner. Ten years of silence is inexcusable, but still I offer my condolences for the loss of your late father, and by extension your mother, and can only hope such an indiscretion is worthy of your forgiveness._

_As soon as I heard of Brian’s passing, I attempted to contact you, only to find you had fled Nibelheim the first moment you could. I don’t begrudge that teacher of yours for removing you from a place of heartache. In fact, I was — and still am — quite pleased you had someone aside from your parents looking after you for so long. Another slight on my part, I admit now, but my duties in Wutai prevented me from leaving home, and I promised both your mother and father I would keep my distance until I relieved myself of those obligations._

_Unfortunately, that never came to pass, and I regret it never will with the direction this empire is heading._

_Up until now, I was content with allowing you to live the rest of your life without truly knowing me — you appear to be doing remarkably well without my help, if the reports I’ve heard are correct — but circumstances have changed drastically in the last few weeks and I fear my health has taken a turn for the worst. I’m uncertain of how much time I have left, but you are the last of my kin, and my one wish is to spend what remaining moments I have left mending those missed opportunities, hoping to establish something that was denied to both of us for so long._

_I’m aware it is unfair of me to ask you of this now, to uproot your life and live another you may very well despise, but I hope you will consider it regardless._

_Enclosed is an invitation to the Hanei estate, should you accept my offer._

_Signed,_

_Lord Masanori Hanei_

“Hey, Zack…?”

The sound of cardboard shifting against dry dirt and Zack’s muffled mumblings were the only noises that met the reigning silence within the derelict shack. Cloud, bone-tired and mutedly troubled by the events that unfolded earlier, leaned further into the moth-eaten curtains framing the boarded window he stood at as a pair of Shinra infantrymen loitered around outside. By now his patience was shot to its minimum, so when no answer followed except more small sounds of frustration, he tore his eyes away from the fissure between the planks of wood with a huff, away from the Friday night bustle beyond the grime-covered glass. What he found was his friend head-first and waist-deep in a hidden recess in the floorboards, struggling, but with what he couldn’t say.

They were only supposed to be in and out, a quick trip to their hidden cache to drop off the other half of the hard earned — and incredibly dirty — money they picked up on the way home. The longer they sat on that twenty-five thousand pile of gil, the more that seed of dread grew in his stomach. Not only that, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were followed. _Have_ been since they stepped foot into sector six again. It might just be his paranoia talking, or even the last remnants of adrenaline thrumming through every inch of his body, but he couldn’t ignore how inexplicably wrong everything felt since that odd shopkeeper approached them with this job weeks ago.

Laughter from the two patrolmen lured his attention back to the window, away from those uneasy thoughts, before they shuffled off to another part of the market. Their position was immediately replaced by a group of teenagers, insolent and impossibly loud.

Perfect.

Coast now clear, Cloud exhaled a deep breath and turned back to Zack.

They should leave, and soon.

Determined this time, he repeated Zack’s name with a sense of urgency.

There was a resounding _thud_ that came from where Zack was underneath the floorboards, followed by a long, pained groan and a string of profanities. Cloud winced. Carefully shimmying out of the hiding spot, Zack’s expression was disgruntled as he cradled the back of his head.

“You need something?” he bit out once he managed to compose himself.

He didn’t want to sound pushy, but, “What’s the holdup?”

“Something made our stash into a nest. Now I can’t get it loose,” he bemoaned, using his free hand to pick out sticky threads of cobwebs from his hair. Zack eyed him peculiarly as he did so, noting the tension in his posture but choosing not to point it out. “What’s the rush? Something out there got you spooked?”

No.

_...Maybe?_

He still wasn’t sure if the shadows that flickered just along the edges of his vision were a figment of his imagination or not.

Cloud frowned, warily eyeing the window once more. For a moment he thought to keep his worries to himself — they could handle themselves in a fight, after all — but it was more than just their lives on the line. They had to think about Aerith’s safety, no matter how cunning and clever she was in her own right. For several months now, they managed to keep her identity and whereabouts a secret from Shinra. To have it all been for nothing would utterly destroy his friend.

“It’s just… It’s too quiet, don’t you think? After what we’ve done? It’s been hours.”

Quiet in the sense that everything was too _normal._ Music and merriment endlessly filled the streets, the festive air surrounding the market a stark contrast to the general doom and gloom that hovered over the undercity day-in and day-out. Time ticked away, and the slums carried on like nothing extraordinary just happened. It shouldn’t put him off, but life never settled so seamlessly after a high profile job before.

And this was — _by far_ — the most dangerous venture they entangled themselves in. And they’ve been on the run for nearly five years now.

“Too easy, you mean? The job?”

“Mm.”

“It _has_ been weirdly radio silent,” Zack observed, his features darkening with the realization. “You’d expect we’d hear something on the news by now, yeah?”

After assassinating President Shinra? Was that even a question?

He expected an influx of infantrymen patrolling the streets, city-wide broadcasts detailing the murder of Midgar’s controversially beloved leader, or a riot, perhaps, courtesy of Shinra diehards nearby in the public square. There should be _some_ kind of reaction, and yet…

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

“Think the guy who gave us the mark might be a Shinra agent?”

Zack’s question only served to confirm Cloud’s unvoiced suspicions, and his heart sank slow like a bitter pill. The dread nagging at him earlier increased tenfold, weighing down in his stomach like an unmovable block of lead. Part of himself was upset that he didn’t bring up his misgivings sooner, and the other afraid for what this would mean for two renegade-turned-mercenaries like themselves.

Zack pressed on, blind to the crisis Cloud was suffering through. “I mean I figured he was an ex-employee, but he gave us pretty high clearance for someone who _used_ to work there, y’know? That shit is hard to fake.”

_Fucking hell._

There were too many questions left unsaid upon their first meeting. Too many why’s that _should_ have turned them away from the deal. Too many red flags that could’ve easily gotten them into hot water. But the red-haired “shopkeeper” quickly shuttered their concerns with fifty thousand gil, no questions asked.

What normal person carried that kind of money around anyway? Certainly not a humble shop owner in Midgar’s undercity.

It was so painfully obvious.

“What do you think, Cloud?”

“He could’ve been one of those suits.” One of those Turks obsessively hunting down Aerith since they rescued her ages ago. And with the promise of a quick buck, they fell right into their trap. It was almost as if they knew the three of them were saving up to make their names disappear forever. “In which case…”

Defeated, Zack scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah, yeah I hear ya. Take the money and lay low for a while.” He let out a dramatic sigh. “Man, and on the night I was looking forward to Aerith’s cooking, too!”

Cloud huffed out a concise laugh, shaking his head. “You say that every night. And it’s always awful. _Always._ ”

And it was no exaggeration on his part. Aerith was skilled at many things — socializing, bargaining, gardening, mending clothes, holding her own in a fight — but in a kitchen, she was hopelessly lost. Most of their meals turned out burned beyond recognition or completely inedible. It certainly didn’t help that he and Zack weren’t much better in that department than she was. How they haven’t starved yet was an honest wonder, especially when most of their money went into their getaway fund.

Rather than give Cloud the satisfaction of a response, Zack instead flicked a pebble at him in retaliation, dissolving into a fit of giggles as it hit the latter dead on the forehead. Cloud rubbed at the spot where it began to sting and pulse, pouting all the while.

“Alright, Mr. High-and-Mighty,” he said after calming down a bit. Amusement, however, still suffused his voice. “I’d love to see how whipped you get when a goddess drops into your life. I bet you’re just as bad, if not worse.”

A pang of regret and resignation hit him all at once, though he carefully kept his reaction schooled with an exaggerated eye-roll and a shove to Zack’s shoulder as he knelt beside him. His friend took the response with a shit-eating grin, but Cloud hoped he’d let go of the subject before it gained any traction.

“Shut up and call your girlfriend already,” Cloud deadpanned, already prying the weakened floorboards apart for easier access to the stash. The gesture left no room for argument.

And thankfully Zack did just that, relocating to another dusty corner of the shack for a modicum of privacy.

Cloud exhaled a sigh of relief when Zack and Aerith’s idle flirtations quickly replaced the silence, settling back on his haunches as he shoved rolled up stacks of gil into a duffel bag Zack lugged around all afternoon. He’d never admit to it, but Zack’s playful remark hit his biggest sore spot fathomable.

Not a day went by where he didn’t think of his hometown and the girl who lived next door — the loveliest creature he ever had the privilege to behold. He often thought of her sweet smiles and unending kindness, especially in those times when he deserved it the least. Those unmistakable carmine eyes, patient and impassioned and terrifying in all the best ways possible. And her quiet resolve, that gentle strength personified in the face of tragedy. He recalled how much of a coward he was back then, always admiring from afar, wanting nothing more than to help shoulder her unspoken heartache, but ultimately too shy to string together more than a few words any time she drew near.

And then she vanished like a specter in the night, belongings gone, house empty and abandoned like she never existed at all.

But he remembered.

Oh, how he remembered — Tifa.

_Tifa..._

Where was she now? In a small town? A sprawling city? Midgar was a definite possibility. Anyone who left the countryside seeking new opportunities wound up in Midgar at some point or another. Was she alone? Surrounded by people she held dear? And if so, were they keeping her safe?

...Was she happy?

Sighing, he leaned his cheek heavily against his knuckles. Above all other minute concerns, it was what he hoped for the most. Besides Zack and Aerith’s own happiness, he couldn’t think of anyone more deserving of it than her, especially after everything she endured. And the _not knowing_ was what made everything infinitely more agonizing. The one chance he had at finding her, squandered the moment he and Zack deserted Shinra’s military.

Not that it mattered much anyway; blindly following orders like a loyal mutt for nearly three years proved to be a fruitless endeavor at the end. Not a single word of her whereabouts. No one to match her singular looks or character. Only baseless rumors from years past.

“—go, Cloud?”

Zack’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He whipped his head around, easily discerning that mako blue gaze through the expanding darkness.

“Huh...?”

“Ready to go? Things sound like they’re picking up outside.”

Sure enough, a commotion was taking place just beyond the ramshackle wall where he last saw the group of teenagers; the stirrings of an altercation, by the sounds of it. No doubt that would attract unwanted attention.

They left sector six at an even pace, keeping to the shadows and more questionable routes on the way out. Nothing stood much in the way except for a few terpsicolts and smoggers, which suited them just fine. Cloud spared a brief glance at his friend, who was unusually quiet the entire walk. His eyes were firmly fixed to the ground, obviously undergoing some type of dilemma, and he hadn’t yet mentioned where they were headed.

Never one to pry or initiate conversation, Cloud went out on a limb by prodding, “Are we meeting Aerith…?”

“No,” he answered without delay, the speed of his stride unremitting. “She’ll join up once we get a new place set up. It’ll be too dangerous if we see her now.”

Cloud blinked, dumbfounded, and halted in his tracks. A new place. Obviously still within the confines of this hellhole. While he agreed that seeking out Aerith now would put her life more at risk than their own, he wasn’t sure if staying in Midgar was feasible anymore. Not after this. Zack stopped, too, once he realized he wasn’t following anymore.

“You still think we should stay here.” There was no question about it.

Zack immediately went on the defensive, though Cloud could tell his heart wasn’t completely into it. “What other choice do we have? There’s not a lot of opportunities in our line of work outside of this place. Hell, we’ve barely earned enough gil for one of us to get a new identity.”

He was right, of course, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. The bitter truth hardly lessened his anxiety. “I don’t know, Zack. I just have a bad feeling about all this…”

And just like he dreaded, that misfortune arrived two days later.

While he was scrounging around for food in the sector seven marketplace, he caught the late president’s son on the television, expression apathetic — and, daresay, a bit smug — as he finally announced his father’s death to the world. Cloud’s heart plummeted, the full extent of who they were dealing with hitting him like a ton of bricks: not just the Turks, but now the entirety of Shinra, which only came into existence by their hand.

Right when he thought the situation couldn’t get any worse, Rufus Shinra added a rancid cherry on top of the shitstorm by issuing a warrant for their arrest, complete with their identification pictures on display for all of Midgar to see.

Cloud turned away with a scoff, pulling his hood further down his face.

It was over.

They left behind the port town of Ame a week later, with Zangan dressed in drab grey robes and Tifa in the finest kimono her respectable earnings could buy. The garment was a transformative black pearl, shifting from enchanting shades of midnight blue to emerald green when the sunlight hit the fabric just right. Elegantly designed cranes were woven into the fabric, flying over a field of powder-white chrysanthemums. An unquestionably beautiful piece, Tifa knew she had to have it the moment she made its discovery. The look alone was a bold enough statement to impress any average middle-class citizen. And while Tifa adored it to pieces, she wondered if it would even make a difference to someone as wealthy and influential as her grandfather.

 _Masanori Hanei_ — a name unfamiliar to her until recently.

What was he even like?

Criminally old-fashioned, that was for sure. The letter he sent her said as much. Though beyond that, she wasn’t sure what to make of him. Her parents only mentioned him in passing way back when she was too young to care, and Zangan made no secret voicing his unsavory opinion about the man in the days leading to her departure. How he knew of his existence without telling her after all this time was a bigger mystery. One that irked her still.

What reason could there be? To protect her? She was twenty now; young enough to still to be considered guileless, but old enough to properly judge a situation on her own. Even if Masanori was an awful man — ‘ _a spineless snake_ ’, as Zangan so often said he was — it still would’ve been nice to know she had family left.

_Family._

Tifa pressed a palm flat to her obi, willing the nauseating flutter of nerves away. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed by her travel companion.

Zangan was leaning forward on his elbows, the rocking of the carriage making him sway ever so slightly. Those piercing grey eyes watched her like a hawk.

“Nervous?”

Tifa gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Is it that obvious?”

“You still wear your heart on your sleeve,” he said, shrugging. “It doesn’t take much.”

A bit embarrassed, her gaze dropped to her lap. “Well that’s reassuring,” she responded glumly, too low for him to hear despite their proximity.

An awkward silence stretched over the carriage. Tifa could barely stand the tension, yet she couldn’t think of a thing to say to break it. Restless, she turned her attention to the small window beside her, to the raindrops streaking diagonally across the glass.

The storm had picked up significantly since they left. Overcast skies darkened with tempestuous clouds, each roll of thunder increased in intensity the closer they reached the capital. Only the static sounds of rain and wind flowing through the trees drowned out the surge.

Tifa anxiously wrung at the fabric engulfing her hands.

She hoped it wasn’t a bad omen. 

“Tell me you’re sure about this, Tifa,” Zangan said after several minutes. He couldn’t even bother to look at her as he spoke. “You’ll be putting your entire life on hold for a complete stranger.”

Like she put everything on hold under his own care? Tifa wanted to laugh. While she appreciated how he readily took her under his wing, it had been nothing but work, work, and more work for as long as she could remember. And when she wasn’t working, he trained her until every muscle protested and burned. It was rigorous, invigorating even, but she surpassed the need for his instruction years ago. Deep down, she knew he felt the same way.

“No one’s forcing your hand, you know,” he continued, tone sharp, pushing himself upright and facing her when she didn’t answer him outright. “We could turn this carriage back to Ame right now if you wanted.”

Except she didn’t _want_ to go back. Beyond her regulars and Zangan himself, there wasn’t much left for her there. The first would be rendered useless the moment Lord Hanei accepted her into his home, and the second… well…

Zangan had been restless for years now. She noticed that wistful call to adventure mist over his eyes when he thought she wasn’t looking. She couldn’t blame him for wanting more. While they somehow managed to cultivate a comfortable enough life for a couple of drifters — starting from virtually nothing, building a place of their own in Wutai of all places — it hardly mattered in the end. As much as Tifa tried pouring her heart and soul into it, it felt more like a hollow substitute than a home. She suspected those sentiments subsisted within her mentor as well, so to keep them both tethered to Ame was a huge disservice.

How fortunate an opportunity fell right into her lap at a time like this, even if the uncertainty that came with its existence terrified her.

“Of course I have my doubts,” she confessed. “But this is something I have to do for myself. Please understand that.”

Zangan scoffed, embittered amusement laden in his voice. “Even if it’ll be a grand disappointment?”

Tifa fought the urge to roll her eyes. She was growing tired of this. He’d been moping around like this the whole week, dropping harsh truths as a way to convince her to change her mind. Unlucky for him, she wasn’t so easily swayed.

“You don’t know that.”

“I know enough. He let down your parents before they decided to elope. He’ll let you down, too,” he cautioned.

“That was decades ago. People can change, believe it or not.” Perhaps not always for the better, but she couldn’t afford to be cynical when her grandfather was the one who offered an olive branch in the first place. Zangan would call her naive for entertaining such a thought, but who was she to deny someone a second chance? Especially when that someone seemed so earnest in their letter.

And she would know. She reread his missive near a hundred times out of sheer disbelief, memorizing each line by lamplight until her eyes grew too weary to stay open.

_...mending those missed opportunities…_

_...hoping to establish something that was denied to both of us…_

If he was truly on his deathbed, what was the point of refusing to change like Zangan had implied? From a vindictive standpoint, what did he have to gain from allowing her into his home? He presented her with the freedom to reject both his apology and last wish. Surely that alone absolved him of malicious intent, if he had any.

_...Right?_

“You’re too forgiving,” he muttered, shaking his head. “One day that idealism will get you hurt.”

Tifa kept her mouth shut. She didn’t have the heart to argue anymore. Not with someone who was so dead set on their opinions.

 _Grand disappointment_ , he said. The only disappointment she felt so far was from his blatant disregard over, well… her _everything_ ; feelings, beliefs, decisions, you name it. She knew he meant well trying to coddle her like this, but it didn’t make it any less frustrating.

Thankfully she didn’t have to stew in another round of silence for long, because they soon arrived at the ornate gates of the Hanei estate.

At the sight that laid past the entrance, Tifa couldn’t hold back an awed gasp. The property was by far the most expansive she had seen since she stepped foot into Wutai. Nowhere near the royal palace’s level of scope and grandeur, of course, but her ancestral home certainly matched it in opulence. The main building — an impressive three-story structure with large, curved eaves — sat atop a hill along the outskirts of the capital, overlooking the bustling city below. In brilliant tones of onyx, gold, and scarlet, it practically _gleamed_ in the stormy weather. She could imagine it being an absolute spectacle under normal circumstances, glimmering in the sunlight.

“Be careful with who you trust,” Zangan warned, startling her with his soundless approach. He stood tall beside her, shielding her from the downpour with an umbrella. “I don’t know what plans Masanori has for you, but if it’s anything like what he does, you need to stay vigilant.”

She supposed there were some dangers that arose from handling all the financial affairs of the empire. Bribery, coercion, and death threats, circumstances made worse by debased officials who preyed upon those unprovoked by their underhanded methods. But those tactics were common amongst the elite, weren’t they? Her and Zangan dealt with plenty of their kind while working at the teahouse.

She knew exactly what she was getting into.

“Of course. I learned from the best.”

As an impeccably dressed man approached the entrance, Tifa’s heart jumped to her throat in a panic. This was really happening now, wasn’t it? Sensing her anxiety, Zangan switched the umbrella into his other hand to reassuringly squeeze her shoulder. She briefly closed her eyes to collect herself, only giving him a grateful smile once her heart slowed back to a normal pace.

The creak of the gate signaled the stranger’s arrival, and it was then that Tifa got a good look at him.

He was tall — at least a whole head taller than her — lithe, with a curly mop of jet black hair and gunmetal grey eyes. An overall handsome face, to say the least. He didn’t dress traditionally like the local aristocracy. Instead, his attire was akin to the wealthy folks that lived on the upper plate of Midgar — a sleek navy three-piece suit, patent leather shoes, an Albert chain attached to the waistcoat, and a crisp white pocket square tucked into his jacket.

Pretentious as hell, but the friendly smile he offered her was the complete opposite of what she expected.

“Ms. Lockhart, I presume?” His voice was as smooth as silk, with a hint of an accent that indicated he’d been raised outside of Wutai.

Tifa took a hesitant step forward. “Ah, yes, that’s me.” To further prove her identity, she flashed the invitation her grandfather supplied in the letter, only tucking it back into her obi when the stranger dipped into a courtly bow.

“A pleasure. I’m Jinsuke Takeda, Lord Masanori’s assistant. You may call me Jin.”

_Jin._

Easy enough, as far as names went, but far too simple to embody someone of his obvious prestige.

“Follow me, if you please.” Jin held out a spare umbrella, stepping aside from the gate so she could pass through.

Before she could even think about moving forward, Zangan reeled her into a tight one-armed hug. He had stood so still and quiet during her brief exchange with Jin, she almost forgot he was there.

“Be safe,” he stressed, his voice lowering into a whisper. “I’ll be in the city for a while longer. In case you change your mind, alright?”

She didn’t foresee that happening, but it was nice to have a safety net if things ever went awry. She nodded, presenting him with the most genuine smile she could muster. “Thank you for everything, Master Zangan. I know I didn’t say it nearly enough.”

The small upward tilt of his lips was humorless, sad almost. “Don’t worry about it, kid.”

And that was the end of that.

With no other words left to be said, Tifa joined Jin, and Zangan climbed back into the chocobo carriage without a backward glance. It wasn’t long before he disappeared down the cobblestone road, into the busy streets of the marketplace, never to be seen again. Tifa drew in a determined breath and followed close behind her new companion.

She could do this.

_I can do this._

“Friend of yours?” Jin asked gently, noticing how frequently she peered over her shoulder once Zangan made his departure.

Tifa blushed. “Teacher, actually.” And a long time guardian. She’d even daresay he toed the line of a father figure, though she knew he’d evade that claim to the lifestream and back. A title like that came with a responsibility which he wanted no part of, which was perfectly fine with her. She didn’t want to force anyone to stay for her sake.

Jin eyed her inquisitively, his gait positively cosmopolitan as he tucked a hand into a trouser pocket. His stare was just as perceptive as Zangan’s, though, unlike her mentor, they were softened with good-humor and a charming smirk. “Second-guessing your decision?”

“No!” Tifa sheepishly reeled herself back, her outburst surprising even herself. She politely cleared her throat. “ _No._ I’m just… He’s been taking care of me for a little over a decade. It’ll be strange not to have him around anymore, you know?”

Sorrow, or something close to it, briefly flickered across his face, almost too quick to catch as he returned his attention to the paved pathway ahead of them. “Yes… Yes, I know exactly what you mean,” he murmured distractedly. He didn’t bother to elaborate beyond that, seemingly content with allowing their conversation to fall into silence. Tifa averted her gaze, refusing to press his boundaries no matter how much her curiosity burned.

“So… how long have you been working for my grandfather?” With the way he presented himself, she assumed he’d been working in high society for years. But he couldn’t be that much older than her, so surely that wasn’t true.

“Not as long as you may think,” he said. “My father was his assistant for ages before me. I took over his position earlier this year, but I’ve lived here for almost half my life.”

Losing someone close to him? Taking over his father’s job only recently? _I know exactly what you mean._ It didn’t take much else to piece together what might’ve happened, to fill in the gaps of Jin’s undisclosed history. She wanted to reach out and tell him it would get better, but who was she to say such a thing when her parents’ deaths still loomed over her like the dark storm clouds above them.

“And what exactly do you do? As his assistant, I mean.”

“Bookkeeping mostly. I used to manage my lord’s schedule before he fell ill, but now I attend meetings and events on his behalf,” he explained plainly. It must be the reason why he was currently dressed to the nines. Jin gestured towards the few workers collecting vegetables in one small corner of the garden. “I also manage the staff here and help around with the chores when I have downtime. I imagine you’ll be sharing these duties with me once Lord Masanori introduces you as Lady of the house.” Jin chuckled, a sudden thought amusing him. “Though I’m sure I’ll be managing your schedule instead by the end of the year if everything turns out the way Masanori hopes.”

Tifa wasn’t sure about that.

Political intrigue was a completely different ballgame compared to running a teahouse, even if it meant she’d be dealing with those same lavish, ill-mannered people in a different environment. Bookkeeping? Fine. Chores? Also fine. Learning proper etiquette to traverse through the upper class? She was an avid learner, for sure, but only time would tell if she was really cut out for something like this.

Feeling overwhelmed all over again, she let out a nervous laugh. “We’ll see about that.”

They soon reached the main building, and Jin gave her a brief tour of her new home. The workers she met along Jin’s preplanned route were warm and hospitable, which was baffling when he presented her with the cold emptiness of the majority of the rooms. Furniture was either packed away in unlabeled boxes or covered up, dusty and left forgotten to the passage of time. It was as if the place was inhabited by ghosts of the past, hardly lived in, which came as no surprise considering how her mother’s elopement hit her grandfather particularly hard.

She couldn’t imagine what it was like losing a child _and_ a spouse within the span of a year — a fact that she discovered with a little research and gentle prodding from her customers. How he remained strong after so long was equally commendable and distressing. She didn’t think her heart could take it if she were in the same position.

“A bit of a warning,” Jin whispered conspiratorially, his expression severe. They had stopped in front of a pair of beautifully designed fusuma doors, the soft glow of candlelight illuminating the interior. Upon the realization that they had arrived outside her grandfather’s quarters, her heart pounded almost painfully against her ribcage. “Lord Masanori’s disposition has been rather… _unsavory_ lately. This whole ordeal has been difficult, to say the least, so try not to take it personally if he’s short with you.”

Tifa nodded dumbly, unable to utter a word as he announced his presence and entered without Masanori’s express permission.

“My lord, Ms. Lockhart has arrived.”

“Ah, yes,” Masanori’s voice was a frail, hollow thing, an unpleasant rattle in his chest. It quickly got overtaken by a bout of sickly coughs, and only several seconds later did he recover. “Let her in.”

The room was exceedingly spacious for one person, sparse in decoration and shamefully messy. Papers were strewn about all over the floors and tabletops. Any empty surface was covered up by half eaten plates of finger foods and immaculate — but dirty — tea sets. And then there was her grandfather, Lord Masanori Hanei, who sat in the middle of it all. His legs were tucked beneath a kotatsu while the rest of his body practically swam under a sea of blankets. His appearance was just as weak as his voice sounded; skin deathly pale, silver hair scant and thin. She would bet he was all skin and bones underneath all those layers.

“Keep those open, Jin,” Masanori added after clearing his throat. “It might be too stuffy in here for her.”

He wasn’t wrong about that. His bedroom packed the same degree of heat as a sauna, which wasn’t surprising when she took all the sources of heat into account. In addition to the kotatsu, she counted two electric heaters and a kindled hearth farther into the back.

Masanori grinned kindly, his eyes creasing at the corners, gesturing with one bony hand to the cushion opposite him. “Please, take a seat, my dear.”

Tifa mutely did as she was told, too nervous to speak now that she was face to face with him.

“I’ll take my leave now, sir,” Jin spoke up, palms neatly clasped behind his back, “if that’s alright with you.”

“Heading to the palace?” her grandfather asked as he tugged the blankets tighter around him.

“Yes, my lord.”

Masanori nodded, the hard lines and wrinkles on his face further accentuated by the contemplative crease of his brow. “Find Godo while you’re there. Tell him I’ll pay handsomely if he sends another one of his best clansmen here.”

“Another guard?”

“For my granddaughter, yes. But don’t tell him that.”

“As you wish.” Jin bowed deferentially to the both of them. “Have a good night, my lord, Ms. Lockhart.”

Silence stretched, pressing in from every direction as soon as Jin stepped out. Masanori said nothing to fill the dead air as he quietly observed her. Tifa fidgeted in her seat, unnerved by the bright carmine eyes that were just like her own. She gave him a polite, close-lipped smile in response.

“Um… thank you for inviting me.” Struggling to find a subject to wrest when his calculating stare was so fixated upon her, she wrung her hands out of anxiety, rumpling the fabric of her sleeves in the process. “Your home is very beautiful.”

He laughed bitterly, only to be interrupted by another fit of dry, rattling coughs. The handkerchief he pulled away from his mouth was spotted with blood. Tifa tried not to stare. “Spare me your pleasantries, girl. I know this side of the house is a dump.”

She blushed. The revulsion must’ve been evident on her face when she first arrived.

“That doesn’t make the rest any less beautiful,” she insisted, thinking of her first impression of the estate. The artful dichotomy of colors, the elegant curve of the roof, the way it drew in warmth like a beacon in the night. There was a reason why she so readily compared it to the Imperial Palace just north of the capital. “Jin spoke highly of the gardens while he showed me around your home.”

“As he should. It is my pride and joy, after all,” he said proudly, lifting the hot cup of tea in between his hands to take a careful sip. He sighed, savoring the way the heat temporarily alleviated the ache in his lungs. “We try to limit how many people have access to this area and when. I don’t want our staff to suffer because of my own stubbornness. In fact, we should keep our time together short for your own protection.”

“Tuberculosis, right?”

His eyes darted from her to the soiled handkerchief curled in his fist and back again. “I suppose it’s rather obvious, is it not?”

Tifa refused to believe that he already tried everything in his power to fight it, that he was just sulking off to let his affliction consume him. He was a rich man, wealthier than most of the other lords in the country. Surely he could afford the best doctors and treatments to cure an old world disease, right? “Is there really no way of treating it?”

Masanori dismissed her query with a wave of his hand. “The doctors have done everything they can, but it’s my own damn fault. I refused to rest and take my medications properly, thinking I could recover without them. Now my own body has become resistant to all the shit they try to put in me.”

She frowned. How unfortunate, even if it was a consequence of his own doing.

“But enough about that. From tomorrow onwards, Jin will prepare you to take over my position. I don’t want our home to pass off into the hands of traitors once I’m gone.”

“Traitors?” He couldn’t mean the people who were already living on the property, right? Everyone she’d met so far had been pleasant and cordial — Jin included. _Be careful with who you trust._ Zangan’s advice returned without warning, a reminder to curb her expectations, to be skeptical of a stranger’s intentions if they dared to enter her life.

“Of the Empire.” At the mystified tilt of her head, he set down his teacup and further explained, “Someone’s been pulling strings from the shadows, using Emperor Kano as a puppet for their own gain. I’ve noticed funds mysteriously disappearing from the treasury, more suspicious people joining our ranks over the years. Unfortunately I’ve had no luck figuring out the culprit. Between Jin and I, no one else should have access to it.”

Naturally, this came as no shock to her. Corruption and greed would always be an issue as long as there were individuals left to exploit.

Tifa bit her lip, remembering all the questionable customers that spent hours upon hours at the teahouse. Government officials and their lowly sycophants, military leaders and common foot soldiers. All varying levels of unprincipled. She probably had more damning evidence against them than Masanori could ever imagine. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t, but what makes you think you can trust me? You know nothing about me.”

“I know enough,” he said with a small shrug. “With what they did to Brian, I figured you’d be wary of anyone working for the government, so I have no doubt that you are blameless in all of this.”

“You’re not wrong about that…” she mumbled, eyes falling to the hands folded tightly atop her thighs. Her knuckles blanched white with anger, the image of her father’s lifeless corpse forever imprinted in her mind. She wished she could forget such a horrifying sight.

“Jin will fill you in on that more later. As of right now, it is not your primary concern.” He retrieved a slip of paper from the messy pile beside him — the layout framed like a schedule by the look of it — and squinted down at his indiscernible handwriting. Candlelight danced across his weathered face. “Did he fill you in on your responsibilities as Lady Seiya?”

_Lady Seiya…?_

“More or less…?” Confused, she shook her head. “Um… wait, I’m sorry, but what do you mean by that?”

“By what?”

“Lady Seiya.”

“Ah, yes, it’s the identity I’ve created for you: _Lady Seiya Hanei._ ” He looked excessively pleased with himself, like it was a name he’d been stewing on for quite a while. “Tifa Lockhart is no good if I’ll be presenting you to the aristocracy.”

Her heart sank, dread and disappointment weighing heavy in her chest. What was wrong with her own name? “Is that really necessary?”

“Absolutely.”

When he didn’t convenience her with an explanation, a tick of irritation shot up her spine. Did he really believe she’d accept that with no reasoning whatsoever? The displeasure must’ve shown on her features, because he soon shot her an exhausted glance.

“You’re upset,” he acknowledged pragmatically, laying the paper flat atop the kotatsu in a maddeningly calm manner. “Go on. Speak your mind.”

“I just…” She sighed in frustration, afraid that she might incense him. “I just didn’t expect this. Can’t we reach a compromise?” Her name was the last connection she had to her parents. She already lost so much over the years — friends, family, her home, no pictures or cheerful memories to latch on to.

Why did she have to give that up, too?

She swallowed past the lump in her throat the moment Masanori shook his head, the familiar sting of tears burning her eyes. “I’m afraid not. Seiya Hanei lines up with the fiction I’ve spun over the years. Tifa Lockhart does not. Unfortunately, I cannot turn back time and revoke the words of a younger, more vengeful version of myself. I’ll lose my credibility with the public and the assembly.”

Tifa furiously blinked the tears away, swiping at the wetness that gathered onto her eyelashes. “And what fiction is that?” Deep down, she already knew the answer.

He — at least — had the courtesy to look ashamed as he answered, “To put it simply: that your parents never eloped.”

Of course.

_Of course._

She could picture her grandfather at least two decades younger, enraged and embarrassed at losing his only daughter, his only child to a commoner (and a foreigner, at that), utilizing his power and prestige to bury Brian Lockhart and Rina Hanei’s affair and subsequent marriage. All of this deception and subterfuge to preserve something as trifling as a family name. She wondered if they would still be alive if Masanori hadn’t driven them away, if he instead accepted her father into his home.

If only he weren’t so proud back then.

Tifa frowned, conflicted by what she was about to commit to.

She could forgive him. Because while Masanori may still be stubborn, the man currently sitting across from her didn’t possess the same animosity as before.

Haven’t they both suffered enough?

“If this is a dealbreaker for you, you’re free to leave,” he said gently, growing concerned when she didn’t immediately answer. “I promise I will take no offense.”

No.

She had to— _needed_ to do this.

How could she abandon him now? When it was obvious he was still learning from his past mistakes, while simultaneously paying the price for them, too. How could she leave the last of her family to die alone? In a home that had more ghosts than people?

She wasn’t heartless.

It was just a name; _Tifa Lockhart._

She would learn to live without it. For his sake.

“No, grandfather. I’ll stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback is always encouraged. <3


End file.
